


Cross the Street or Cross the Sea

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Kittens, Multi, Post-Anklet, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of a second, less dramatic commutation hearing, Neal didn't know if he should stay or go. A rainy afternoon brought him one very small reason to stay, and the months after brought him much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the kind and patient [](http://leonie-alastair.livejournal.com/profile)[**leonie_alastair**](http://leonie-alastair.livejournal.com/) for her donation to [](http://fandomaid.livejournal.com/profile)[**fandomaid**](http://fandomaid.livejournal.com/) 's Hurricane Sandy auction. Thank you to everybody in chat who helped me in the idea stage and encouraged me along the way and to [](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://theatregirl7299.livejournal.com/)**theatregirl7299** for betaing. Title from "You Won't Be an Orphan for Long" from _Annie_.
> 
> Pics note: I have stolen the pictures used below from [here](http://lovemeow.com/2010/12/foster-home-becomes-forever-home/).

Neal spent years wishing the anklet away, working around it, doing everything he could do to get out of it for an hour or a day. He spent even longer dreaming of where he would go if he were free, making an ever-changing series of plans, but when his commutation hearing came about for the second time he was completely unprepared. He hadn't expected any mercy in regards to the length of his sentence, but apparently he'd been boring enough for nearly a year, boring enough to inspire somebody to cross his line-item off their budget several months before he was scheduled to be released.

There was little drama this time. No death-defying leaps through the air, no last-minute scrambling. Kramer was out of the picture, finally retired to Arizona, and nobody else seemed interested in nitpicking Neal's past for whatever crimes were still within their statutes of limitations. The whole hearing was a rush job, trying to meet somebody's end-of-quarter deadline, and with only a few days for Neal to worry about it the hearing committee convened. Neal testified, as did the rest of the White Collar team, June, Elizabeth and Sara, and more quickly than Neal thought possible for the federal government he became a free man. Peter removed the anklet, and for a moment Neal felt light enough to drift away.

The celebration afterward started in a restaurant and moved to a bar before ending at the Burkes' house. The crowd thinned with each change of venue until just Neal, Peter and El squeezed into a cab together for the ride to Brooklyn, and the inside of the cab was almost startlingly quiet compared to the din of the bar. Traffic moved slowly, and El fell into a doze between them, nestled up against Peter with his arm around her, his hand brushing Neal's shoulder.

After a while Peter broke the silence between them. "Will you promise me one thing?" His voice was deeper than usual, thick from whiskey chased with beer.

"I won't do anything to make you put me back in prison." Neal sighed, not sure he was as drunk as he wanted to be.

"No." Peter shook his head. "Well, yes, that too. But I want you to promise me you won't make any rash decisions right now. You have a lot of different ways you can go, just--just take your time. Don't fly off across the country or anything, at least not tomorrow."

It was heady to think about, that he could be on a beach in California by the next afternoon. He could go skiing in Colorado or visit museums in Chicago. As long as he wanted to keep within the law, international travel was off the table until he applied for and received a new passport, but all he needed for domestic travel was the New York State ID in his wallet, and that still gave him room to roam that was almost incalculably larger than his two-mile radius had been.

"I know I can't tell you what to do, I know you have the right to decide, but I'm asking you as a friend." Peter sighed. "As somebody who cares about you, I'm asking you to take some time, stay in the city, don't make any big decisions until your head stops spinning."

"Who says my head is spinning?"

"I know you. And anybody's would be. This is big. You have something close to a fresh start here, and I'd hate to see you throw that away on a half-baked plan."

"Okay, Peter. I'll make sure that whatever I do is fully baked."

Peter stretched his arm out to cup his hand around the back of Neal's neck, and Neal thought he was about to be shaken but Peter surprised him by ruffling his hair, his hand warm and heavy. "If we're friends, if you haven't just been playing along to stay out of prison, then promise me you'll wait. Please."

That stung, though the truth was that he _had_ been playing along at first, had been working his way into Peter's life the way a con man does, but somewhere between Kate's death and Peter's first kidnapping the con had turned on him, turned real. "Okay, I promise," Neal said. "I'll wait." And if Peter noticed that he didn't say how long he'd wait, he didn't ask. He just left his hand cupped loosely around the base of Neal's head until the cab pulled up in front of the house.

Neal had been intending to go home when the celebrating was over, but Elizabeth asked him to stay with them and she promised him breakfast. Between how much he hated to disappoint her and how much he loved her signature frittatas, it was easy to agree. It was a chilly early-spring night, and the guest room on the third floor was cold but Elizabeth kept the bed made up with an electric blanket. Neal didn't think he'd be able to sleep, his head spinning with possibilities because Peter really did know him well, but as the bed warmed up Neal slipped off into slumber.

When he woke in the morning, everything felt normal for a moment and then Neal realized--it was his first morning as a free man in nearly eight years. Eight years that started in jail then prison then the anklet, and even during his time in Cape Verde he'd been hunted, not free. Before those eight years Neal had felt free, more freer than most people with their mortgages and their jobs, but being on the run, knowing you can never rest, is an exhausting charade of freedom. It got old. He thought maybe _he_ was too old for it now.

At the same time he felt amazingly young, like he'd just graduated with a world full of possibilities in front of him. He sat up and took a deep breath of the cool morning air, and he got out of bed without an anklet to catch on the sheets. Sunlight was streaming through the windows and as Neal looked out onto the street below he remembered his promise to Peter. He made the promise again, to himself, because this feeling, this freedom, was too good to throw away on a bad decision.

~~~

Neal knew he would have to work out his employment situation sooner than later, but in the immediate aftermath of the commutation hearing he was unemployed. Or, as he preferred to think of it, on vacation. Peter was trying to work out something with the Bureau, but the suddenness and speed of the commutation had far outpaced the speed a government agency could move when it came to creating and funding a new position. Neal was fairly certain he could keep himself legally employed and financially solvent in the city without the FBI, but he was keeping his promise in mind, and he didn't want to make a decision without knowing what his options really were.

In the meanwhile, he had his share of profits from The Greatest Cake and a healthy bank account funded by cash from a couple of his aliases that hadn't ever been burned. Mozzie had laundered it through the bakery over the years, and while Neal intended to stay on the straight and narrow he wasn't opposed to using what was left from his ill-gotten gains. He'd paid for them, after all, paid for them with almost eight years of his life. June had asked him to stay and insisted that she wouldn't let Neal pay for anything more than a share of the utilities. She'd been happy to take the government's money, but she wasn't about to take Neal's.

Beyond being touched and grateful, Neal was glad not to have to leave his home, the only stable living space he'd had since he was a child. And even then, even though he and his mother had stayed in the same duplex apartment for years, he couldn't describe it as stable, not knowing what he did now about how other people lived. But that was the past, and Neal wanted to focus on the future.

For the first week, he made a point every day of leaving the area that had been his radius. He visited the museums and restaurants that had taunted him with their nearness, and he explored neighborhoods that had been too boring for him to even notice when he was in his twenties, running around the city chasing thrills and dollar signs. The weather was good that week, cool but clear, a feeling of spring that matched the new start to Neal's life, and as he exited the subway station in the Burkes' neighborhood the sun on his face was warm and welcome.

Peter had invited him out to the house for Sunday brunch, and Elizabeth made it clear it was a standing invitation. He climbed the stairs to their house and thought about the first time he'd knocked on their door. His anklet had been blinking out its warning ever since the cab drove across the boundary of his radius, and Neal had known he was pushing it, risking the whole deal, but he didn't think Peter would put him back inside until he'd at least served his purpose of helping to catch the Dutchman. And there were things he needed to know--how long it would take the Marshals to realize he was outside his radius, what their level of response would be. More than that, he wanted to find out how flexible Peter would be when it came to the rules of their game.

And it had definitely been a game then. He'd liked Peter from the beginning, from before the beginning, and he fell a little bit in love with Elizabeth the moment she opened the door, but in the part of his mind that was focused on finding Kate they had still been marks, the means to an end, chess pieces. That they were now among the most real elements in Neal's life was almost a miracle, evidence that fate could be kind as well as cruel.

The Burkes' house had been a place of comfort for Neal so many times, and that made it all the more strange that this Sunday brunch, just over a week into Neal's new life, felt so uncomfortable. There wasn't anything he could pin down; they welcomed him into the house and let him help with the cooking, and Satchmo hung around the table hoping for treats. But he saw Elizabeth more than once opening her mouth as if to speak and then looking away, her words unspoken. Peter, usually so easy and comfortable in his body at home, carried a tension with him, and every attempt Neal made at figuring out the problem was neatly deflected. Nothing unpleasant was said or even hinted at, but somehow it felt all too appropriate when Neal went to leave and found that the spring sunshine had given way to rain.

As he walked back to the subway with an umbrella borrowed from Peter, Neal got the sense that he'd seen something out of the corner of his eye but he didn't know what it had been. Trusting his senses had kept Neal out of trouble enough times that he turned back to investigate. There was nothing obvious, but then Neal realized that part of the shadow under a trash can was the wrong shape and far too black for the overcast day. Even while his logical mind told him that it was probably a piece of junk or a rat or something else he didn't need to look, Neal walked closer.

Then it moved and Neal stopped, ready to back away if a rat came scurrying out at him. But it didn't scurry and it wasn't a rat; a tiny black kitten crawled out from under the trash can and looked straight up at Neal with big blue eyes. It was soaking wet and filthy, and it opened its mouth in a silent meow that was the cutest, most pathetic thing Neal had ever seen.

"Hey," he said, keeping his voice soft. The kitten opened its mouth in another silent meow, but when Neal took another step closer it retreated back under the trash can. Neal didn't know much about cats, but he knew that he couldn't leave this one and he knew how to be patient. When he stood still for a moment, the kitten poked its head out to look at him, and when he crouched down as low as he could go without sitting on the pavement it disappeared again. Neal held out his hand and slowly, in tiny increments, the kitten came out from underneath the trash can to sniff his hand.

Neal turned his hand to pet the kitten's head, and when the kitten relaxed enough to let its guard down Neal snatched it up and stood. The kitten squirmed and squealed but it was shivering and tired out quickly. Neal transferred the kitten from one hand to another and despite its fear it was barely awake. Thinking quickly, he unbuttoned his shirt, tucked the kitten in next to his undershirt, then buttoned back up and zipped his jacket over that. He hailed a cab, and as soon as he was out of the weather he pulled out his phone and found the nearest emergency vet.

He didn't know what he was doing, didn't know why it was so important to rescue this one tiny creature in a city full of people and animals who needed help, but the kitten was trembling and occasionally squirming against his belly and it was _his_. He just hoped that he hadn't found it too late, and when he realized that he was shivering right along with the kitten he told himself it was just the chill of the April rain.

~~~

Neal hadn't been in a veterinarian's office for close to thirty years, and it was both far more modern than what he remembered from those sharp-edged long ago moments and far busier. It took a few minutes for Neal to get anybody to pay attention to him, and he understood--in a room with barking dogs, wailing cats and a piercingly loud bird, he was a man with no visible animal. Maybe they thought he was confused, the way he was occasionally clutching at his belly like a wounded gangster in a movie holding in his guts. Finally he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out the kitten, a tiny, wet bundle that fit in one hand though he was cradling it in both of his palms over the counter at the reception desk.

That got him some attention and within a few minutes Neal was in a small room with the kitten and a woman he thought was probably a vet tech. The kitten was being dried and warmed and a needle had been stuck into the loose skin in its back for hydration. The kitten was weighed and measured, poked and prodded, and then Neal was left alone with her in a tiny room. He couldn't move her from her warm nest, but he stood and pet her with one finger, pleased that she seemed to accept his touch.

Now that she was clean, he could see that she wasn't all black. Pure white fur started at the bridge of her nose and extended down her throat, chest and belly then out to her feet and paws like socks. Her nose and the skin around her mouth and toes were pink, and when Neal touched his finger to her nose she drew back, offended, before poking her head up to sniff him and then lick him with her tiny, raspy tongue. Everything about her was almost unbearably cute, and Neal couldn't help thinking she would grow into a beautiful cat.

After an uncertain amount of time a long-faced woman came in and introduced herself as the doctor. "Mr. Caffrey?" she asked, looking at something on a tablet. When Neal nodded she turned her back to look at the kitten for a minute then turned back to look solemnly at Neal from across the exam table. "How did you acquire this kitten?"

"I found her on the street. She'd been hiding under a trash can, and there were no other cats around. I couldn't just leave her there." Neal wasn't sure why he'd started thinking of the kitten as a her, but he couldn't call her an it, not out loud

The doctor nodded. "Do you intend to adopt this kitten? Do you have any experience with kittens this young?"

"I don't have any real experience but I do want to adopt her."

"Do you have any other animals?"

"No, I don't." Neal met the doctor's questioning eyes and shook his head. "I'm not sure why I'm being interrogated here."

"The issue is that this kitten is between two and three weeks old. Even with good care, by which I mean hand feeding every two hours round the clock, very close attention to temperature and hydration and help with elimination and cleaning, this kitten may well not survive. It would be kinder to euthanize it now than to let it slowly starve or chill to death or to raise it and then abandon it. Hand-reared kittens don't thrive on the streets. The kitten will also need considerably more veterinary care in the first six months of its life, including spaying or neutering. So I want you to make sure that you're willing and able to make a very serious commitment."

Neal swallowed hard and thought about it. If he was going to leave NY any time in the near future, he wouldn't be able to care for the kitten. If he wanted to roam the city day and night, he wouldn't be able to keep the kitten fed. But he knew that there would be no other life for the kitten he'd held close to himself against the cold. "I'll take care of her. I can afford it, and as it happens I have a lot of free time right now."

The doctor nodded, her face softening. "You should understand that there might not be anything you can do to save this kitten. I--I recommend that you wait a few weeks before giving her a name."

Neal had questions, a lot of questions to make sure he was prepared until he could do his own research, but the only thing he could manage to ask in that moment was simple. "It's a girl?"

The doctor smiled a little indulgently. "Yes, Mr. Caffrey, your kitten is a girl. Now, I'm going to send Mindy back in to give you some more information and help you with some supplies you'll need. The kitten formula is _not_ optional. Then, as long as your kitten is warm and hydrated, we can go ahead and send her home with you."

Neal thanked the doctor, and when the assistant came back in he listened to all of her advice and took a copy of every available pamphlet. He turned over his debit card to pay an astonishing amount of money for the emergency care along with the formula and feeding supplies. It was late in the evening when Neal caught a cab home with a clean, dry and thankfully flea-free kitten once again tucked into his shirt, this time right against his skin.

She might have been okay in one of the vet's cardboard carriers lined with a towel, but the night was cold and Mindy had impressed upon Neal that the kitten couldn't regulate her own body temperature yet. They had fed her, making sure Neal understood how to get her to nurse, so he'd have a little bit of time after they got home before he had to feed her again. Sitting in the back of the cab, Neal could feel her move a little against his belly every time he shifted, incredibly soft fur brushing against his skin.

The cab driver probably thought he was insane, but Neal undid the first two buttons on his shirt, pulled his t-shirt away from his chest and peered inside. The kitten looked up at him with her blue eyes shining in the darkness, and Neal didn't know how everything had changed so quickly but this was his life now, she was his. And she was going to survive even if it meant that Neal didn't sleep until she was big enough to wean.

As he let himself into the house, Neal realized with a jolt that theoretically he should've asked June if she was okay with him getting a pet. He didn't think she'd have a problem beyond concerns about the furniture, and Neal didn't mind replacing June's more precious, vulnerable pieces with more utilitarian furniture once the kitten was old enough to be a menace. Beyond that, she wouldn't be mobile enough to bother anybody for a few weeks and if June truly didn't want a cat in the house Neal would find his own apartment. Waiting until his employment situation was worked out would be better, but getting rid of his kitten wasn't an option.

He thought that the next day would be plenty soon enough to talk to June so he climbed the stairs to his rooms. He turned on the lights, then reached down inside his shirt and pulled the kitten out. She blinked against the brightness, and he wasn't sure how well she could see, but he held her out to survey her territory as best she could. "This is your new home, baby," he said, feeling a strange wave of emotion filling him, an ache in his throat. "This is where you're going to live with me."

She answered with a tiny meow, already stronger than she'd been on that rainy sidewalk in Brooklyn. Neal wanted to sit and examine every bit of her--the curling white whiskers and the tiny claws and paw pads, her delicate ears and fluffy tail--but he knew he had a bunch of work to do.

Thanks to some of the bumps and bruises he'd taken over the years of working with Peter, Neal had a couple of microwavable hot/cold packs, and he popped one of them in to heat up. In the wardrobe closet he found a hat box, empty since the hat it had housed was sacrificed to the cause of fighting crime. He wrapped the heated gel pack in a towel and put it in the box off to one side, then filled the rest of the box with another towel. After a couple of minutes it felt warm in the box but cooler on the side away from the hot pack in case his kitten got too warm, so he carefully put her inside. She mashed the towels with her paws for a moment then curled up to sleep, a tight, tiny ball of black and white fur.

Neal stroked her delicately with one finger for a minute then put the box in the middle of the kitchen table. He washed and dried the feeding bottle and nipple and got the formula ready to go. He set a recurring alarm in his phone to let him know when it was time to feed her then sat down at the table with his laptop to do research. He only knew enough to know that he had a lot to learn.

Time went by quickly while Neal was reading websites and jotting down a list of supplies he'd need and things he wanted to remember, and it was the feeding-time alarm on his phone that startled him out of his research trance. Like some kind of little kid with a doll, Neal wanted nothing more than to hold the kitten in his arms like a baby and feed her that way, but the vet tech along with everything Neal had read about neonatal kitten care insisted that she needed to feed with her paws down on a surface, that feeding upside down could lead to pneumonia, and Neal wasn't about to risk that for anything. He got up and warmed the formula then went back to get the kitten.

Neal stroked his finger from the tip of her nose back over her head, and she woke up quickly with her big blue eyes blinking up at him. "Time for your bottle, okay kitty?" He picked her up and carried her the few steps to the small kitchen counter. "Sorry it's not a bottle of wine, but I don't think that would work for you, huh?" She stood on the countertop and when Neal put the nipple in front of her she poked her nose at it for a moment before taking it in her mouth. She stretched her little neck up and drank steadily while Neal held her lightly with a hand on her back.

"I need to find a name for you, but it has to be right one. You don't mind being kitty right now, do you? No." Neal shook his head and laughed quietly. "And now I'm talking to a cat. How did this happen?" The kitten didn't answer, but she'd taken as much milk as she was supposed to so Neal followed the instructions to burp her. He kept her on the counter for a few minutes, checking her out and cataloging her features, then followed the instructions to help her go to the bathroom.

"That's kind of awkward isn't it? But you should figure out how to do that on your own pretty soon, so I can live with it right?" The kitten just yawned in response. Neal held her until he could re-warm the heat pack and rearrange her bed, then put her back inside the hat box and watched her curl back up into a ball again. He rewashed and sterilized the bottle and nipple and made a note on his list: MORE BOTTLES.

He knew he should probably try to get some sleep, even if he had to get up again in another hour and a half, but he was too excited, too full of plans and worries and mental lists to rest. He took a quick shower then relocated to the sofa with the kitten plus the laptop and notepad. She slept through the move and for a while Neal held the box on his lap and just watched her body expand and contract with each breath. He'd already read too many warnings that kittens this young, especially abandoned, motherless kittens, could slip away so quickly. But she looked so much healthier already, and he thought that if he kept his eyes on her she wouldn't ever have the chance to get away from him--at least not until she was old enough to run.

~~~

When Neal's phone buzzed, he woke up confused, slumped against the corner of the couch with the kitten in her hat box on the cushion next to him. He'd closed his eyes after the last round of feeding her and making sure her box was warm enough, but he didn't think he'd fallen asleep hard enough to make it all the way to the next feeding. When he looked at his phone he saw that it was 7:15, just over half an hour from the last feeding, and the buzz was from Peter calling him.

"Hi," he said, and when he looked down the kitten was awake and looking up at him.

"Sorry if I woke you. I almost forgot you were living a life of profligate leisure."

"Haha, yeah. What's going on?"

"I'm on my way to the office, and I have a bag of brunch leftovers that I've been instructed to deliver to you. El meant to send them home with you yesterday, but I guess we both forgot."

Neal had forgotten about the odd awkwardness of brunch, but he was sure that whatever was going on had distracted Elizabeth from her plan to stock Neal's fridge. "You know, I can feed myself."

"I'm sure, but I told my wife I'd bring this to you. Do you mind?" Peter was quiet for a moment then added hesitantly, "If you're not at home--"

"No, no, I'm home. When do you want to come by?"

"I'm on the bridge. See you soon?"

"Sure, thanks." Neal hung up and looked down at himself in his pajama pants and a stained undershirt. He needed to go change and make himself look decent, maybe put on some fresh coffee, but that would take less than ten minutes, and Peter was at least twenty minutes away. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, blindly stroking the kitten with one finger, nose to tail. In his mind, he went and washed up in the bathroom then pulled on jeans and a turtleneck. The knock at his door distracted him and he woke with a jolt to discover he was still on his couch, still in his ratty pajamas. With a sigh, he got up and went to answer the door.

Peter just stared at him for a few beats, then shook his head and walked inside. "What happened to _you_?"

Neal shrugged and rubbed his hands over his face and then through his hair, trying to feel and look a little more awake.

Peter looked closer, peering at the stains on his shirt. "You're not sick are you?" He reached out a hand as if to check Neal's temperature, and Neal deflected him.

"I'm not sick, I was just up all night. Let me show you something." He walked back to the couch, picked up the hat box and carried it over to the kitchen table. "I found her on my way home yesterday."

Peter raised his eyebrows then turned to look, and Neal watched as his whole face softened and his breath caught. He dropped the bag of food on the table then put his hand in the box and let it hover just over the kitten. "Oh, look at you." The kitten backed away as far as she could go and breathed out a tiny hiss at Peter's unfamiliar fingers. "Aw, I'm not going to hurt you." Neal had never heard Peter's voice quite this way, much higher and softer than normal, and it pulled at something inside him in a way he didn't want to examine.

Pete stared at the kitten for another minute then looked over at Neal. "This kitten isn't even three weeks old. Who in the hell let you take her?"

Neal had never thought there would be so much interrogation involved in adopting a cat. "I found her a couple blocks from the subway station in your neighborhood, all alone and soaking wet. So I took her to a vet and now she's mine."

Peter just looked at Neal for a long moment, but then he smiled the soft, fond smile that always made Neal feel good in a way he'd never want to admit. "You know she's too young to be weaned, right? You're going to nurse her?"

"I'm aware of that." Neal nodded over at the counter where the bottle and nipple sat on a clean paper towel. "Why do you think I look like this?"

Peter gave him another one of those fond smiles then looked back down at the kitten. "Do you need some help with her? I don't imagine you have much experience with kittens this young."

"I haven't really had any experience with kittens at all until last night, but I wouldn't have thought you did either, Mr. Dog Person."

"When I was a kid, my best friend's mother bred cats. I'll never forget how that house _smelled_." Peter grimaced. "But she let us help out, earn a dollar here and there. Then there was a runt that the queen didn't want to nurse, and my mother gave in, let me adopt him. I spent a lot of time inside nursing that cat during the summer when I would've been playing baseball, but he was a good cat."

"I never would've imagined that." Neal thought that if he looked in the mirror right then he would've seen a fond smile of his own. Then he broke the mood by yawning so hard his jaw ached.

"You've been up all night." It wasn't a question, and Neal didn't bother arguing. "How long until her next feeding?"

Neal checked his phone. "Forty-five minutes."

"Okay." Peter patted Neal on the shoulder. "Go take a shower, get dressed. I'll keep an eye on her. Wait, what's her name."

Neal looked down at the little bundle of fur in the box. "The vet said I shouldn't name her until we're sure she's going to live."

"But you're not waiting that long."

"No. I just haven't figured out the right name yet." Neal ran a hand through his greasy hair. "You'll keep an eye on her?"

"She'll be fine." Peter nodded, and Neal gave in.

"I'll be back in ten."

"Take your time."

Neal left as Peter sat down at the table, and it was closer to twenty minutes later when he walked back into the kitchen area feeling clean and presentable. He found the table set with a mug of coffee and some heated up brunch leftovers and Peter on the other side of the table with his jacket off, his left sleeve rolled up, and the kitten stretched out on her belly on his forearm.

"Hey, you look better," Peter said, his voice softer than usual.

"I feel better, thanks." Neal sat down and picked up the coffee mug. "You didn't have to do this."

"I don't mind. I don't have anything pressing first thing this morning." Peter looked at his watch. "I have a meeting at nine, but I can stay for now."

"Is she okay there?" Neal felt nervous seeing the kitten out of her nest.

"She's fine, the body heat is good for her. How did you keep her warm until you got her home?"

"In my shirt."

Peter smiled and petted the kitten's head. "See, you're doing fine."

Neal wasn't sure if Peter was talking to him or her, but he ate his breakfast and watched Peter, breathing against the ache of longing in his chest. By the time Neal was done with breakfast, it was almost time for the kitten's next feeding, and Peter was getting ready to go. "Listen," Peter said. "If nothing comes up, I should be able to leave the office by 3pm. How about I come over, kitten-sit, and you can get out of here for a while, go to the pet supply store. Unless you want me to go shopping for you?"

Neal thought about it--the worry about leaving the kitten versus how good it would be to walk around a little. He trusted Peter with his life and it was clear that he could trust Peter with his kitten, but shopping was something he'd really rather do himself. He nodded. "I'd appreciate that. I put together a list of things I need to get or look at, and I'd rather be able to see it all in person."

"Yeah, El doesn't trust me to do her shopping either." Peter shrugged like he really didn't care. "Okay, I'll see you later."

Neal watched Peter go while he warmed up the formula for the next feeding. When her belly was round and full and she was cleaned up and ready for another nap he made sure she was snuggled up warm in her box then closed the box in his bathroom just in case and went downstairs. The weather was too cool for June to be breakfasting on the terrace, but Neal wanted to ask her about the kitten before much more time went by. He found her in the front sitting room, the room that caught the most morning sunlight, reading the newspaper and drinking tea.

He knocked on the door frame and waited for her to invite him in. "June?"

"Neal! Please, come sit down." She waited until he complied, then put down her newspaper. "So, what adventure do you have planned today?"

"Just a little shopping, but that's related to something I need to ask you about."

"Yes?"

Neal took a deep breath and let it out. "How do you feel about cats?"

"Oh, I like them just fine. Byron was allergic to them, and poor Bugsy is terrified of them, but my daughter's Bengal is beautiful when he's not stalking Bugsy." She took a sip of her tea. "Why do you ask?"

"It was rude of me not to ask you about this ahead of time, but it wasn't anything I planned. I was out last night and, well, I've adopted a kitten."

"Really?" June looked interested rather than peeved.

"She's only about fifteen or twenty days old so she's not very mobile yet. When she's old enough to do any damage, I'll take care of moving out the furniture so she won’t ruin it. Or we can move out entirely, of course."

"No, you certainly won't. We can worry about the furniture later." She waved it off. "Later on when you're ready you'll have to tell me the whole story, and let me get a look at your kitten, of course."

"Any time. But if you don't mind, I'm nervous about leaving her alone up there."

June laughed. "No, you go on and do what you need to do. Thank you for asking me."

"Thank _you_. Again." Neal felt guilty about running out on June but he hated to think of the kitten alone in the cold bathroom.

But the kitten, as it turned out, was far from passively waiting for Neal. When he opened the bathroom door, he found her taking wobbly steps across the bathmat, nuzzling at it with her face as she went. "Well, how did you get out of your box?" Neal asked, but she didn't pay any attention until Neal scooped her up. She squealed and flailed her little paws, and Neal could hardly believe she was the same cat as the sodden, almost listless creature he'd carried into the vet's office less than 18 hours earlier. "You're pretty strong, yeah?"

Neal yawned and leaned back against the wall, and the kitten grabbed hold of his shirt and climbed the few inches up to nuzzle at his neck. Food, caffeine and a shower had gone a long way to making him feel more human, but he was still exhausted so he put the kitten back in her box and carried them over to his bed. The apartment was warm, so he stripped down and just pulled on a clean pair of pajama pants before climbing up on the bed. Mindful of Peter's advice, he stretched out on his back and settled the kitten on his chest.

She wobbled around, clearly searching for the right place to find milk, and Neal wished her luck. Her tiny, sharp claws poked into him occasionally, but her teeth were just beginning to grow in. "I really need to find a name for you," he told her. "Because you don't strike me as a kitten who has any intentions of slipping away. You're--ow!" He picked her up and repositioned her when she started to slip off the side of his chest and stopped herself with all four sets of claws. "You're definitely holding on."

Neal wondered what Mozzie's reaction would be to the kitten, and then he wondered if Mozzie would ever even meet the kitten. He had to believe that there would be another chapter in his story with Mozzie, but the last one was definitely closed. When Neal got the notice that he would get another commutation hearing, Mozzie came to him with plans--jobs they could do, money they could make without The Man breathing down their neck. Neal had been tempted; he didn't think he'd ever stop craving the thrill of the chase or the feel of shiny things in his hands. Neal had been tempted, and that was why he had to ask Mozzie to leave, leave and stay away until the hearing was over and Neal's life was settled one way or another.

Saying no to Mozzie was hard, a lot harder than Neal wanted to admit, and he didn't think he could be strong enough to say no every day, every time Mozzie had an idea or a plan. However, he managed to say no one time, decisively, leaving no room for questions. And maybe, at least for the time being, no room for their friendship. Mozzie left behind a conspicuous absence, and Neal missed having Moz around to drink with and to toss around ideas about hypothetical cons, treasures that were supposedly out there for someone smart enough to find them. But if Neal needed a clear head at any time in his life it was during this time when he was making decisions that would set the direction for the rest of his life.

He had thought up a lot of excuses for himself in the past. He'd left home an angry kid, feeling betrayed by the one truly good influence in his life, and then he'd been hungry, literally and figuratively, willing to do what it took to get the things he thought he deserved. And then he made friends who showed him how he could use his talents--the artistic talent and winning smile that were, as far as he was concerned, the only good things he inherited from his mother--to bend the world to his will. After that, he'd been playing a game that was hard to quit, rolling on a drug with one hell of a high.

Neal couldn't use those excuses anymore. He had a home and experience he could use to get a legitimate job, with or without the FBI. He had friends who were good people, good examples. He was a grown man, and he knew who he was, he understood his past. He wasn't angry, and if he was still hungry, what he hungered for wasn't anything he could buy or steal. He could only wait and hope and live a life that wouldn't take that hope away.

If Mozzie's absence hurt, going back to prison would hurt worse. Losing his friendship with Peter and Elizabeth would hurt worse, and now he had a tiny life to think about. Neal wondered if Mozzie would be aghast at a pint-size vector of disease and mayhem being brought into the apartment or pleased that Neal had adopted an orphan. The kitten had worn herself out and was curled up in the middle of Neal's chest. "What do you think about being named Mozzie? Mozzelle? No? No." But it felt oddly right, that he had at least temporarily lost one orphan from his life but--permanently, he hoped--brought in another one. At least the kitten wouldn't have to spend her life wondering what happened to her family.

"You lucked out, didn't you? Not even three weeks old, and you've got it made. I might not own this mansion, but I can afford plenty of cat food. The best kind, even. I can be your Daddy Warbucks, right? Huh." He pet her and studied her sleeping face, her little eyes shut tight. "Annie? What do you think?" She didn't offer an opinion, but the name felt right, and Neal had his answer. "Annie Caffrey, pleased to make your acquaintance."


	2. WC fic: Cross the Street or Cross the Sea (R) P/E/N - (2/2)

When Peter came back in the late afternoon, Neal fed Annie and made sure Peter remembered how to do it. She was visibly stronger, even just since first thing in the morning, stretching her sinuous little body up to meet the bottle and kneading at the air with her paws. Neal was dressed and ready to head out with his shopping list, and finally Peter all but kicked him out of his own apartment with a promise to call if anything went wrong.

There were a few pet supply stores Neal wanted to visit in different parts of town, and despite the small number of things he truly needed right away the shopping trip took hours. He picked up the most necessary items right away: more kitten formula, extra bottles and nipples, a thermometer to make sure she wasn't too warm or too cold, an electric heating pad to keep her bed more consistently warm. She wouldn't need things like a litter box, litter or solid food for a little while, but Neal made notes of what he wanted to get for her so that he could have them delivered when it was time.

He spent far too much time looking at cat carriers, but he thought it was an important decision. He'd be using it to take her to and from the vet, and he needed her to be warm and comfortable. He also wanted something that he could carry without looking like an idiot, even if Peter would probably harass him for spending so much money on a carrier when Annie wouldn't care what it looked like. The store clerk was certainly happy to sell him the $200 carrier, and Neal walked out of there content with his purchases.

When he got home, Peter was reclining on the couch with the kitten slowly crawling along his thigh, and for a moment Neal was overwhelmed by how glad he was to see her still okay. Coming home to Peter was a good thing too, and he tried not to let himself imagine how good it would be to come home to Peter every day. He was supposed to be focused on dreams he could make real, not far-flung fantasies, no matter how domestic.

"Thanks for taking care of her. I'm sure you'd rather be relaxing at home."

"I'm just fine here." Peter gently put the kitten back in her box and moved his legs to make room for Neal on the couch.

"Is everything okay?" At Peter's confused look, Neal clarified. "At home. I know it's none of my business but something seemed off yesterday, so I was just wondering."

A flash of something like embarrassment passed over Peter's face, but then he was composed again. "No, we're good. Everything's fine."

"That's good," Neal said, his voice carefully neutral.

"Good good." Peter nodded. He stood then put a hand on Neal's shoulder when he started to rise as well. "I'll see myself out. Call me if you need anything?"

"I will."

Peter pulled on his jacket and left, and Neal wondered how he'd ended up with more uncertainty rather than less. On the other hand, he was too tired to think about it very much so he stretched out on the couch and dozed off, warmed by the heat Peter had left behind.

Neal's life had been many different sizes over the years. His life as Danny Brooks in St. Louis had pinched and chafed at him even when he didn't know why, and all he'd been able to think about some days was how big the world was, how many other places there were to be, how many other ways to live. Then, in his life as a con man, forger and international art thief, his world had been dizzyingly broad--so many places, so many names, almost no limits--and yet at the same time it had been shallow. He didn't let himself think about it most of the time, just kept moving, kept flying, but sometimes he yearned to be able to go deep, to really learn a place and a person and a life.

Then he went to prison and the wide world collapsed into a black hole. As he got used to it though he found that prison life was oddly like the form of a sonnet, so very constrained and yet the more he learned it the more he was able to work within its boundaries, make it sing at times, push at its edges and, for just a moment, break free. Life within his radius, working with the FBI, was just big enough to remind him that it was small, the perfect amount of space to let him get enough speed going that when he hit the wall it hurt like hell. For all he complained, he knew that two miles in Manhattan was like 20 miles in some middle American suburb, but he didn't know how to let that be enough.

Taking care of Annie, seeing to every need, every bodily function, collapsed his world again, and yet somehow it was entirely different. For a few weeks, he rarely left his rooms in June's house, but instead of a cage it felt like Annie's box--warm, soft, comfortable. He could climb out if he wanted to, go run around, but curling up there was okay. She had a lot of growing to do, and maybe Neal did too. Staying in one place, he began to realize that in his years on the anklet his world had begun to grow deep to make up for the lack of breadth. He still missed Mozzie, but a postcard came from Japan and it felt like forgiveness or an apology, whatever it needed to be. June came to see Annie and visit with Neal, and some days she brought her younger granddaughter, who was looking healthy and beautiful in that awkward, pre-teen way. She e-mailed pictures of Annie to Cindy in Paris, and Neal told Annie she was an international superstar.

Peter and El visited often, sometimes together but more often separately, stolen moments and lunch times, and Neal treasured every visit. He tried not to want more than he was given--the soft touch of Elizabeth's hand on his arm, the weight of Peter leaning into him as they watched Annie play with the ring from a bottle of milk. And yet the more he was given, the more he wanted, and looking up from taking care of Annie to see Peter watching him with a soft look in his eyes tempted him to feel a kind of hope that could only lead to hurt.

They seemed happy, and when they were both there they fit together as perfectly as always, their bodies leaning into each other, but when they looked at each other, when their eyes met, Neal felt a tension that didn't make any sense. Whenever Neal broached the subject, they both deflected every question about what was going on at home. There was some silent conversation going on, some disagreement, but neither of them would hear or speak a word about it. It was a mystery, but Neal was too busy focusing on Annie to work it out.

She grew so quickly that some days he thought he could see that she was bigger than the day before. She still slept long hours, but she would climb out of her box and romp around, and in those moments she radiated a kind of unadulterated joy that Neal had never seen before. And just when his heart would be aching from it, she'd chomp down on his finger with her brand new teeth or climb up his shirt, making him feel like he was being attacked by a rosebush. He packed her up in her new carrier and took her to the vet he'd found nearby, just for a checkup to make sure she was developing the way she should be. The new vet had Annie's file from the emergency vet, and when she told Neal he was doing a good job he carried the pride from that around inside himself for days.

The new vet had reminded Neal that Annie was still more at risk than a kitten who'd been able to stay with her mother and litter mates, but after so many days of her growing and improving and overflowing with the drive to _live_ he didn't think there was any real chance that she'd do anything other than blossom into a beautiful cat. He got comfortable, and when he woke up to find her sniffling a little he didn't want to think it could be anything to worry about. He called the vet's office, and they told him to keep an eye on her--as if Neal didn't watch her all day long. He had started painting during the time he had between feedings and play time, but he checked on her constantly, always.

That day, she was less enthusiastic about attacking the bottle, and she drank less than usual but it didn't seem like enough of a difference to warrant disrupting her routine by packing her up and taking her to the vet. Neal wiped the little bits of goo away from her nose and eyes, and she snuggled up on his chest for nap time, just like always. When Neal woke to find her listless and struggling to breathe, it was clear she needed help _now_.

His heart racing, Neal tucked her into her carrier with a hot pack, grabbed his wallet and ran down the stairs. The house was dark, June gone for the evening, and Neal barely managed to lock the front door behind himself before he hurried down the front steps and all but threw himself in front of a cab. It was too late for the regular vet to be open, so he directed the cab to the emergency vet where he'd taken her that first night. She was so much bigger than she'd been then, so much stronger, but he didn't know if she was strong enough. He didn't want to have to be strong enough to lose her.

Neal opened the carrier just enough to slip his hand inside, and he cupped his palm to the side of her body so that he could feel her breathing. Annie was still breathing raggedly when Neal shoved money at the cab driver and ran inside the clinic. They took her back to the treatment area but didn't allow Neal to follow. He shivered as the flood of adrenaline in his body started to recede and stumbled over to sit on one of the benches.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it, at the list of contacts. He suspected that this was something he should manage alone; Annie was his pet, his responsibility, his decision. But he didn't want to be alone, and as he looked around the room at the other people waiting and saw couples and families he couldn't help himself. He hit the button to dial Peter and waited to hear that familiar voice.

"I hope you know I'm risking my wife's wrath by answering the phone during her favorite TV show." Peter was joking, and Neal closed his eyes, trying to relax.

"I'm sorry to call you so late."

Peter was quiet for a moment. "Neal? If you're apologizing then something must be really wrong. Where are you?"

Neal took a deep breath and let it out. "The emergency vet. Annie's sick, I don't--"

"Which one? Where are you?"

Neal gave him the cross-streets. "But you don't have to come. I just--I don't know." _Wanted to talk to somebody_. Neal couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Stop. I'll be there soon, but call me if anything happens."

"Okay." Neal didn't want to think about anything happening, but something was going to happen one way or the other, and he wasn't ready. Neal sat and stared at the door to the treatment area, zoned out on worst case scenarios, and he didn't realize he wasn't alone until he smelled Elizabeth's perfume. She sat on the bench next and threw her arms around him, and Neal sank into her embrace.

"Peter's finding somewhere to park," she said when Neal finally pulled back, "but I didn't want you to have to wait alone anymore. Any news?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry to ruin your evening."

"It's not ruined, and it's not your fault." She took his hand, and it felt surprisingly intimate to have her soft fingers intertwined with his.

When Peter came through the doors he looked harried until he spotted them, then he walked over and sat on Neal's other side. He put his arm around Neal's shoulders, sat so close that their hips touched, and Neal felt perfectly bracketed, surrounded, kept. There were no strange looks between Peter and Elizabeth, no unsettled feeling; Neal knew that whatever happened they would be with him, and he was so grateful that he didn't have words for it.

The wait took what felt like hours, but in the end the vet told Neal that Annie was doing better, that she would survive. Neal couldn't even bring himself to be surprised at the bill. He just paid it, collected Annie who was asleep but breathing easily, and let Peter and Elizabeth drive him home. He waved off their offers to stay the rest of the night at their house; he just wanted to be home, home with Annie.

~~~

Annie recovered and her energy level doubled, keeping Neal busy and amused, and one day he looked at her and realized she wasn't a baby cat anymore. She was two months old with bright eyes, big ears and glossy fur. She was fully weaned, only needed to eat three times per day and she didn't need any help maintaining her temperature. She still loved to sleep on Neal's chest, though, and he didn't mind that one bit. He started exploring the city again, and while he was out he kept her locked in the bathroom because while he did trust her to use the litter box he didn't trust his own kitten-proofing efforts, not yet.

The late spring weather was beautiful, and Neal was pleasantly worn out from wandering around Central Park when he got home to find the bathroom door open and no sign of Annie.

"Moz?" Neal called out, backing up to look around the apartment. "Are you here?" A postcard had come from Singapore little more than a week earlier with no indication that Mozzie was on his way back to the city, but Neal knew better than to expect his friend to be predictable. If Mozzie had arrived and found Annie, she would probably have made friends with him, but there was no sign that Mozzie or anybody else had come into the apartment while Neal was gone. June would never have let Annie out of the bathroom, the staff were steering clear of the apartment when Neal wasn't home, and nobody else was staying in the house. It didn't make sense.

Testing a theory, Neal went into the bathroom and pulled the door shut. A light tap to the inside of the door didn't move it, but a firmer shove revealed that the warmer weather had swelled the door just enough to keep the latch from catching properly. Clearly Annie was an escape artist--and stronger than she looked. Neal tried to stay calm. There was, after all, no way for her to get outside. The doors to the terrace were securely locked, and Neal's apartment door had been shut when he got home. Unfortunately, there were many, many spots in the apartment that could hold a kitten, most likely more than he could even discover. He'd lost her previously when she'd hidden under the bedcovers, but the bed was made so he could see she wasn't there.

Neal called for Annie and shook the container of dry food. He picked up every toy she had that jingled or crinkled and opened a can of wet food as noisily as possible, but there was still no sign of Annie. Neal reminded himself of the infinite hiding spaces and set about searching. He looked on, under and inside every piece of furniture, using a flashlight to make sure he wasn't missing her, a tiny patch of black in the shadows. He re-checked the bathroom, checked the fire place, and then stood looking around the apartment. He was almost certain that the door to the huge closet had been closed when he got home, as he made a point to always keep it closed to safeguard Byron's remaining suits, but he couldn't be absolutely sure.

The closet alone had at least as many kitten-sized hiding spots as the whole rest of the apartment, if not more. Neal ran his hands through every suit and checked each of the shoes. He looked under the hats and patted the piles of sweaters. She was nowhere. Neal left the closet and walked through the apartment again, calling for her with increasing stridency. He stuck his head back in the closet to call her again and had almost moved on when he heard a tiny meow.

"Annie?"

Another meow sounded from inside the closet, and Neal stepped inside. He closed the door behind himself to make sure he knew where the sound was coming from.

"Annie? Where are you?"

The answering meow was louder now, and she sounded like she wanted out of wherever she was but she didn't sound hurt so Neal took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Panic never helped get a job done. Taking slow steps around the closet, Neal kept calling for Annie and using her meows to narrow down her location. When he thought he knew what area she was in, even though he couldn't figure out how she was stuck somewhere he hadn't found her earlier, he knelt down on the floor, pushed aside some clothes and heard her next meow more clearly. He still couldn't see her, even with the flashlight, but there was an odd line in the molding by the floor and when Neal prodded at it with his hand it gave way and he felt warm fur against his fingertips.

"You were one sneaky man, Byron," Neal murmured as he squirmed close enough to get a better look. There was a small compartment with a door that opened in from a hinge on top, and while it had probably been used to hide cash it was also the perfect trap for a kitten. He couldn't push the flap in far enough to let Annie out, but the mini screwdriver on his keychain let him take the hinge off, and Annie encouraged him with pathetic meows and sharp teeth on his fingertips.

When he finally pulled the little door off, Annie ran out of the compartment with a wild look in her eyes. Neal stood up to stretch out his back then felt a sharp sting on his leg and looked down to see Annie climbing his jeans. "Whoa, hey!" Before he could pull her off she was on his shirt and then nuzzling his face and curling up by his neck to sit on his shoulder. "Yeah, I missed you too." He pet her head and felt her purring against his skin. He didn't know what he'd do without her.

~~~

When Peter called a few days later, he sounded tentative, unlike his usual relaxed calls when he was inviting himself over for some beers and kitten time. "Will you be home this afternoon?"

"I can be, sure. Are you cutting out of the office early?"

"Well, I'm hoping to talk business, if you don't mind."

"Okay." Neal wanted to know more, but he was willing to wait. "One-thirty?"

"One-thirty," Peter agreed.

It was nearly 2pm before Peter arrived, but he had sent a text that he was delayed by a meeting that ran over. Neal met him at the door with Annie on his shoulder, her new favorite place since getting trapped. Peter looked at her, at them, with a startled smile then shook his head and came inside. "How did you get her to do that?"

"How to get her to _not_ do it is a better question," Neal joked.

Peter reached out and pet her with one finger then nodded in the direction of the table. "Can we sit?"

"Of course." Neal put Annie down on the floor and sat down across from Peter. "Do you need my help on a case?"

"We need your help on a lot of cases. It's taken me a while to put this together, but I have a job offer for you."

"Back working with you again?" Neal missed working with Peter and the team, but there was something wonderful about Peter not being his boss and he'd be sorry to lose that.

Peter tilted his head back and forth. "Sort of. But before I lay all this out, can you tell me what your plans are in general? If you're thinking of relocating to the Cote d'Azure this is all a little bit pointless."

"I'm staying here." Neal didn't even have to think about it. He wanted to travel, and he would, but New York was home now. "There are too many things I would miss if I left." _You_ , he wanted to say, _Elizabeth_. "Plus, I don't think Annie would enjoy the traveling life."

Peter looked very pleased though Neal could see him trying to keep his business face on. "I'm glad to hear that. So, this position has been created for you, cobbled together by multiple departments. There would be some travel, actually, but nothing exotic."

"What kind of travel?" Neal was interested, but he didn't want to have to make a habit of leaving Annie alone or in a kennel.

"You would be consulting with the White Collar, Art Crimes and Organized Crime departments in the New York and New Jersey field offices and occasionally down in DC. Obviously you could commute out to the Jersey office, and there might be some overnights in DC but not on a weekly basis, and some of your work could be done remotely from the office here. Unofficially, my division would have first priority when it comes to your time, but I won't be your supervisor. You would be a reporting to SAC Kearns in DC."

"Wow." Neal didn't know what to think. It wasn't perfect, nothing that involved Organized Crime was ideal, but it was more than Neal could have asked for.

"You would need to get a valid driver’s license, and you'd have access to fleet cars for traveling to New Jersey or elsewhere in the area. You'd probably be taking the train to DC at least monthly to meet with Kearns but some of those might allow for you to get there and back in the same day if you don't mind taking the 6 am train."

"I--thank you, Peter." Neal tried to pull his thoughts together. "Dare I ask about compensation?"

"It's more than $700 if that's what you're worried about. The reason why so many different departments are involved is that none of us have the budget for a full-time consultant or analyst with your qualifications, but together I think we've put together a pretty good offer." Peter wrote down a number on a piece of paper and slid it across the table keeping his hand over the number. "I know you could've made this in an easy heist in the past, but I'm hoping you won't look at it that way. And I doubt any of those heists came with medical, dental and a retirement plan."

"I told you I'm staying. Now let me see how broke I'm going to be."

Peter pulled his hand back, and the number on the paper was more than Neal had expected. Peter was correct that he could have made this money in a day or a week when he was running around with Peter on his tail. He was also right that this job offer came with benefits that were completely unavailable to Neal back then, benefits that went far beyond medical, dental and a retirement plan. He did have some other ideas for legitimate work but taking this job didn't mean he had to work for the FBI forever. Taking this job meant that he'd be working with Peter and the team again, and he wanted that very much--the work he'd come to love but without the restrictions and complications of being a CI.

"Neal?" Peter's voice was quiet, worried.

"I--I accept." Neal took the piece of paper and folded it blindly while he hashed out the details with Peter, and when they were done he handed it back to Peter--origami in the shape of a cat.

~~~

"Come to brunch!" Elizabeth said when Neal answered her phone call the next Saturday afternoon. "Or, I'm sorry, do you already have plans?"

"No, no plans." Brunch at the Burkes' house had a tendency to stretch into a several hour event, but Annie had been old enough to be left that long for a few weeks now. Neal had been avoiding thinking about going out to Brooklyn because, between the nebulous tension between Elizabeth and Peter and his own pointless desire, there was more complication than seemed worthwhile for any meal. But now Elizabeth was asking him, and he never had learned how to say no to her. "I'd love to come to bunch. Thank you. What should I bring?"

"Just yourself. Okay, sweetie, see you tomorrow!"

Neal felt like there was something going on, something more than just an ordinary brunch, and he hoped that she wasn't planning on surprising him with some kind of "welcome back to the FBI" party. He had signed the contract, and he was looking forward to starting in another week, but he'd rather spend Sunday with just Peter and El.

Sunday was gorgeous, the kind of breezy, warm day that came before the sticky heat of July and August. Neal went hatless for fear of having to chase it down the street, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and enjoyed the feeling of fresh air and sunshine and the scent of the flowers in his hands as he walked from the subway station to the house. Elizabeth greeted him at the door with a smile and a hug then took the flowers and drew him into the house.

She looked beautiful in a loose, casual pale blue dress that showed off her figure just as well as the form-fitting dresses she favored most of the time, and Neal had to look away because the dress looked so soft and all he wanted to do was touch it, touch her. There were footsteps on the stairs, and Neal looked up to see Peter only to want to look away from him too. At home on the weekend, Peter could usually be relied on to wear old relaxed-fit jeans with a t-shirt or sweatshirt. There was nothing wrong with that, and the t-shirts especially suited him well with the way they clung to his chest and arms, but the green linen short-sleeved shirt he had on now showed off his build just as well while also exposing a glimpse of skin at the open collar. His legs looked even longer than usual in off-white linen pants, and while they weren't slim-cut they were just snug enough to draw Neal's gaze to the crotch.

Neal looked away and bit the inside of his lip to tamp down his incipient arousal. Why did they have to look so _very_ good? When he felt in control Neal grinned at Peter. "What's the occasion? You two are dressed awfully nice for brunch at home."

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged a look, and it reminded Neal of the awkwardness from before but somehow it wasn't awkward at all. If Peter and Elizabeth had been at odds before, even in some small way, they were clearly on the same page now. Neal just wished he knew which book they were reading. "You're the occasion," El said. "Come on back to the kitchen. A client gave me a really good bottle of champagne so we're having mimosas."

It was excellent champagne. On an empty stomach, it went right to Neal's head for a quick, sweet buzz, and when Elizabeth, sitting on a stool at the island, took his empty glass, put her hand on his face and kissed him Neal melted and opened his lips to her without even thinking. Then he stumbled back a step, his heart pounding as he looked to see what Peter was going to do. But Peter--Peter wasn't doing anything other than watching them calmly with one of his fond, loving smiles that always felt like a prize when Neal managed to earn one. But there was heat in his eyes too, and Neal started to think that Peter's smile would only be the beginning of the best prize, the one Neal thought was never supposed to be his.

"Peter?" He asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

Peter came closer, put one hand on the bare skin above Elizabeth's knee and cupped the other around the side of Neal's neck. He brushed his thumb over Neal's jaw, and Neal leaned into the touch, dizzy with surprise and desire. "Do you want this?" Peter met Neal's gaze and held it as surely as he was holding him physically, but Neal couldn't speak. The offer didn't seem real, and the old self-defense of paranoia warned that it could be a trap. "Because we want this. We've wanted this for a long time, but I couldn't take this step while I was responsible for you at work."

"And even once you were free, Mr. Rule Book here wouldn't take the chance until he knew he wasn't going to be supervising you again." Elizabeth put her hand over Peter's and squeezed.

Neal wanted to reach out and touch both of them, but he felt paralyzed. "Is that what was wrong between you two? Arguing about me?"

"We weren't arguing," Peter said.

"And it wasn't about you, not like that," Elizabeth added. "I was just afraid that you'd leave if we didn't give you a good reason to stay."

"And I was concerned that if you stayed for us you'd come to resent us."

"But you decided to stay on your own, so that's a moot point. And Peter isn't going to be your boss, and I just want to be kissing you some more. If that's what you want." Elizabeth looked at him with her big eyes, and Neal was never so happy to give in to her.

"It's what I've wanted for a while, but I thought it was impossible." Neal looked at Peter again. "This is for real?"

Peter answered by stepping into Neal's space and kissing him. Neal opened his lips and closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensations--one broad hand in his hair, one on his lower back pulling him closer, the taste of coffee in Peter's mouth and the rough-slick touch of his tongue against Neal's. Then Neal gathered himself enough to give as well as he was getting and there was the strong curve of Peter's chest under the palm of one hand, the short, soft hair at the nape of Peter's neck clutched between his fingers. Neal pulled back, desperate for a few lungfuls of air, and saw Elizabeth watching them from a foot away. She was flushed from her cheeks down onto her chest, a delicate pink that Neal wanted to taste.

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips then trailed kisses down her jaw and her neck, inhaling the heady scent of her perfume. When he continued down past her collar bone. he felt her finger under his chin, and he raised his eyes to look at her.

"Why don't we save that for later?" She smiled, but it wasn't a question. "Let's eat and talk, and then we have the whole rest of the day for--" She looked down at Neal's tented pants and then back up with a flirty smirk. "Other things."

Neal sighed, and Peter cupped his hand around his neck again, soothing him with a gentle touch and the promise of more. "We've all waited a long time, we can wait a little longer. And my wife is a very smart woman."

"I just--" Neal stopped and reminded himself that this was Peter and Elizabeth, that they were not temporary, that getting things right was important. He thought about giving them a plastic smile and saying something fake and perfect, but Peter's hand on his neck and Elizabeth's leg brushing his grounded him. "I just don't want to let this get away."

"Oh, sweetie," El said, squeezing his hand.

Peter moved his hand from Neal's neck to his shoulder and folded him into a hug, a world of warm, steady strength surrounding him. "We're not going anywhere."

~~~

Neal walked out of Penn Station dragging his overnight bag behind him and shivered in the cold January air. The weather in DC was warmer, but there had been some problem with the tracks and the train was late, so now it was dark and freezing and Neal was more than ready for the day to be over. The line for cabs was short and moving quickly, and that was the first thing to go well for Neal since he checked out of his hotel room in DC and headed for the train station. There were, he supposed, some benefits to arriving after 11pm.

The cab ride home was smooth, and soon Neal was hurrying through the cold again to run up the front steps and fit his key into the lock. As soon as he got inside, Neal had to smile and let go of most of his frustration because he had a welcoming party. One big yellow dog and one skinny black cat trotted over to him and looked up, waiting for love and attention and the slim chance of food.

"Hi, Satch," Neal whispered as he scratched the dog behind his ears. "Hi, Annie girl." Annie walked right underneath Satchmo and circled around Neal's ankles until he bent and picked her up. It was still a shock sometimes to need two hands to pick her up when she'd fit in the palm of his hand so recently, but she was still in the lanky teenage stage, not quite full-grown. She pushed her face against Neal's, claiming him for her own, then squirmed until he put her down.

Neal parked his suitcase against the wall where he could deal with it the next day and hung up his coat. The scarf Mozzie gave him for Christmas a month ago was hanging with his other scarves, and Neal was pretty sure Peter knew about the wiring Mozzie had built into it--just in case Neal ever decided to covertly record his walks in the winter wonderland. Mozzie had reappeared in June, shortly after Neal started his new position with the Bureau, and they were still trying to find new footing for their friendship but Mozzie was mostly respecting Neal's decision to continue working for The Man. Mostly.

"Hey, you." The voice came from above, and Neal looked up to see Elizabeth walking down the stairs in a nightshirt that just brushed the tops of her thighs.

"I'm sorry, I was trying not to wake you."

"You didn't, we were waiting for you. Well, Peter's half asleep but I was reading."

Neal bent to kiss her, so glad to have her curves under his hands, so glad to be home even though he'd only been gone one night. He followed El up the stairs, Annie climbing right alongside him. After changing into sleep clothes he climbed into bed. El pulled him into the middle, and it was so warm there, surrounded by body heat and blankets. Peter woke up just enough to press a sleepy kiss to Neal's face then wrapped his arm around Neal's middle and fell back to sleep. El snuggled in closer, fitting her body to Neal's.

Just as Neal was falling asleep, the tension of the last two days dissolving into a warm haze, he felt a nudge at his shoulder. Annie poked her head under the covers then squirmed in and moved down the line of Neal's hips and legs until she curled up around his feet. Neal wasn't sure how she could breathe under so many covers, but it had become her favorite spot once the really cold nights started. Neal pet her with his toes until he could feel her purr against his skin then took a deep breath of the smell of Elizabeth's hair, leaned back a little into Peter and let himself drift off again.

All the years he'd spent dreaming and wanting and wishing for something other than what he had--all those years he hadn't known that what he really wanted was this.


End file.
